I walk down the green painted concrete, whines and barks echo. I focus on the numbers, instead of the sad, tired faces.
19.
A pleading puppy.
21.
An eccentric pitbull.
Then, 25.
23 is losing his mind as I crouch down in front of the door in front of 25. 23 claws at the chain link, barking incessantly. His eyes plead for any scrap of attention.
I do my best to ignore it, reminding myself I don’t want to come home to that everyday.
I focus on 25.
He’s mostly black, with big patches of grey and a white underbelly.
“Hi,” I say softly, sticking my fingers through one of the shiny rectangles.
He examines me for a minute, sleepily standing up. Cocking his head, he briefly sniffs my hand. Then, as all of the other dogs bark and cry, Seymour politely sits and lifts his paw like an elderly old gentlemen.
He’s silent…until he breaks into a half pant, half smile, slightly crossing his eyes.
I immediately walk to the front desk and ask when I can adopt him.
“Um, he needs a heartworm treatment,” the Lea Michele lookalike says, leafing through some papers. “So not until next Wednesday. Do you want to meet someone else?”
I look at her, probably a little more intensely than I anticipated.
I consider disclosing my certainty. I think about coming to see him every day until he’s free. But I know like anything else, I need to trust it.
“No.” I stammer. “He’s mine.”
And I leave.
I called almost every day.
“Am I still good to see Seymour on Wednesday?” I asked each woman who answered the APS phone.
It was a yes, until it was Tuesday night.
Then it was a no.
“Um… what kennel is he in again?” The girl absentmindedly asks.
“25.” I say, a bit impatient.
“Oh, yeah. He’s not free until Saturday. Or maybe Monday.”
I felt anxious, imagining what would happen if he wasn’t available until Monday. I couldn’t stake any claim until meeting him, and the possibility that I’d lose him – after being so sure about him – rattled me.
I should probably take a few minutes to explain when I decided to get a dog.
I had two dogs before. Then a lot in my life changed. Russell went to my ex, Molly went to live with my parents – originally a temporary fix, but over time, became obviously permanent.
Molly took to my parents home more than she ever did any of mine. She spends her days leisurely walking around their huge front and back yards. My Mom considers Molly hers – calling the sweet hound mix her “favorite daughter” (keep in mind she has three human daughters).
So for the past three or four years, I’ve been intentionally dog-less. And for the past two years, single. It’s obviously something I’ve written about a lot.
But maybe what I’ve shied away from, is the loneliness that came with all of that. Around January, I started to feel a push to consider dog adoption. I flirted with the idea, but was hesitant to make a move.
After my New Years trip, work picked up and I forgot about it. I even got a fish, Walter – that’s still alive and swimming. I didn’t revisit the idea for a dog at all.
Until Seymour popped up on my News Feed.
I followed APS months ago – after catching the end of an event at Beer Durham. His name got my attention. I’m a huge Futurama fan – I jokingly shared the post to my wall, stating I should get the dog and name him “Seymour Butts”.*
*I have since been corrected by my co-worker Jordan that Fry’s dog was Seymour Asses. I swear it was Butts when I watched the episode on Fox eons ago.
I didn’t forget Seymour, though.
I couldn’t get him out of my head. So I prayed about it, sat with it – then finally, went to meet him. That’s when I knew.
I considered all of the cons – I thought about the implications he’d have on my schedule. I obviously love to travel (my new co-worker Angie was just telling me about friends she had in Budapest she could “totally hook me up with.”)
I recently got a second job downtown waitressing at a bar – keeping me out until 11 or 12 on any given night. And plus, there’s my day job. Aside from all of that, although I got support from Dogmother Annabel… I got negative feedback from some friends or family members, telling me it was a bad idea for someone like me to adopt.
That honestly hurt me – “someone like me”. As if someone free-spirited shouldn’t have some kind of companionship. My argument there – that I’ve settled with – is that Seymour and I can be free-spirited together. I had wanted someone to be free spirited with anyway – why can’t that someone have four legs?
And if there was ever a time, a place, and a dog to be free-spirited with — this is the time, when I have a job that allows me to work from home, within close proximity of my residence. This is the place – Durham, North Carolina, one of the most dog-friendliest places I’ve ever been. This is the dog – the pile of fur, polite sniffs, and love that’s currently passed out on my bedroom floor.
The dog that has still yet to bark, and looked absolutely devastated when I scolded him for bringing me the fun paintbrush he found. The dog that rolls on his back so I can give him tummy rubs. The dog that looks absolutely delighted by car rides.
Sure, Seymour won’t realistically follow me to the the coast of Portugal, or explore the streets of Madrid. But if there’s a mountain to hike, a brewery to day drink at, or a dog-friendly beach to be found along the Gulf of Mexico, in drivable cities and states like Nashville, Charleston and Asheville – we will find them. We will be there.
And in that way, Seymour gives me the opportunity to venture places I may not alone – an opportunity for simultaneous solitude and companionship that could never have with another person.
Our adventure begins now.